


An Alphabet of Hurt and Comfort (Redux)

by loves_books



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8227748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: 26 times James was ill or injured, and 26 times Robbie tried to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [An Alphabet Of Hurt and Comfort](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4376630) by [loves_books](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books). 



> More than a year ago I posted 'An Alphabet of Hurt and Comfort' featuring Hannibal and Face from The A-Team, then almost immediately I started rewriting the same 26 little scenes for Robbie and James, mostly to see if I could but also to give me something to do when stuck with writer's block. It's unbetaed, and I don't think it needs any warnings though I'd ask any readers to please pay attention to the headers for each section if there are certain illnesses/conditions you would prefer not to read about. Most of these are very short, while some parts are a little bit longer, and all of these are stand-alone pieces rather than one story.

** A – Appendicitis **

“It’s fine,” James gasped, pressing one hand hard into his lower right side and hunching his tall body over even further. “I’m fine, really.”

“It’s not fine, lad, and neither are you.” Robbie had watched with growing concern as James’s mild stomach ache had grown steadily worse throughout the day, with James refusing lunch and even throwing up twice.

“It’s just something I ate,” James insisted, though to Robbie’s observant eyes his cheeks were flushed with the beginnings of a fever and his eyes were suspiciously bright. “No prawns, but it has to be something I –” He broke off with another sharp gasp, bending over entirely and wrapping both arms around his stomach.

“Enough, James. I’ve got you.” Robbie stepped quickly closer, catching James around the shoulders as the taller man’s legs threatened to buckle. “Time to go to the hospital now, okay?”

“Okay,” James whispered, leaning heavily into the supportive embrace, and that fact alone told Robbie he had made the right decision. “Robbie?”

“Yes, James?”

There came a pained whimper that set all Robbie’s protective instincts on edge, before James admitted softly, “It really hurts. I think something’s wrong with me.”

“I think you might be right.” Robbie pressed a very gentle kiss to James’s temple as he started to usher him carefully but quickly towards the car. “You’ll be okay, love, I promise.”

 

** B – Bacterial Meningitis **

Robbie couldn’t help feeling that he should’ve known. When James had complained that the lights in the office were too bright, when he’d mentioned that his headache was getting worse, or when he’d kept rubbing at the back of his neck, saying how stiff it felt. When they’d arrived home from work and first spotted the faint rash on his chest and upper arms. When his temperature had started to climb, or when Robbie had struggled to wake James from his exhausted sleep in order to get him to eat something. 

Surely, Robbie should’ve known something was seriously wrong when he couldn’t wake the man he loved. 

But it had all happened so quickly. Within the space of a few short hours, James had gone from perfectly healthy to slightly under-the-weather, to fighting for his life, and there was absolutely nothing more Robbie could do to help him. Now, watching through the glass window of the ICU, he thought for the thousandth time that he should have realised what was happening. 

If only he’d brought James in sooner. If only he hadn’t waited until James abruptly collapsed and started convulsing before calling an ambulance. There had been no way to know any sooner, of course; meningitis wasn’t unheard of in a man James’s age, though it was rare, and Robbie’d had no reason at first to suspect it was anything more than a cold or perhaps even flu.

Now, James lay comatose in intensive care, hooked up to numerous life support machines and surrounded constantly by attentive doctors and nurses. Now, that faint rash had spread across all the visible portions of James’s upper body, in spite of the antibiotics being pumped into his body, as septicaemia rapidly took hold.

Now, the doctors were telling Robbie that there was a long fight ahead of them. That they would do everything they could to get James through it, though there were no guarantees that he would survive. Even if he did make it, the doctors had reeled off an extensive list of possible complications which had made Robbie want to weep, though the very worst of all those would be if James survived only to suffer irreversible brain damage.

Now, all Robbie could do was wait. And pray.

 

** C – Carpal Tunnel Syndrome **

Robbie noticed James shaking his wrists out, a barely-concealed wince hovering on his brow, and quickly left the room without commenting. There was little to be said, really, and he knew James detested it when Robbie fussed over him.

It was getting worse, Robbie reflected sadly as he fetched a couple of large ice packs from the freezer; James had barely been on his laptop for an hour this time, and it was obvious that the pain had grown unbearable quite rapidly. The wrist splints helped enormously, although the doctor had cautioned James not to use them for extended periods of time, in case he became too reliant on them. They’d have to talk about surgical options sooner or later. 

For now, though, Robbie knew what would help. He paused in the doorway of the living room just as James glanced up from his desk. He held up the ice packs and quirked an eyebrow up in silent question, waiting until the other man huffed a small, slightly pained laugh before moving closer. 

James pushed back in his seat, resting his hands and forearms on the desk palm up, and allowed Robbie to settle the ice in place over the inside of his wrists. Robbie pressed a warm and lingering kiss to his partner’s temple as he turned away without a word, and James just whispered, “Thank you.” 

 

** D – Diabetes **

“Robert?” James sounded a little shaky, setting Robbie’s internal alarm bells ringing even before he added, “Could you please get me a can of cola? And a chocolate bar, too, I think.”

Knowing exactly what that request implied, Robbie moved quickly, making sure to grab one of the full-sugar cokes rather than the diet version they both preferred, before hurrying through to the living room. “Alright, pet?” he asked quietly, handing over the drink and tearing open the bar of Dairy Milk. “Here, slowly now.”

James nodded gratefully, cracking the can open with shaking hands and taking a long drink. Robbie stroked one hand gently through his partner’s hair, hoping to soothe him until the sugar could hit his system, but long minutes passed and James’s shaking only seemed to increase.

This was still so new; the diagnosis was barely two months old, and James was fighting hard to gain some sort of control over the illness. Robbie knew without a doubt that they’d get there, but there were times when it was painfully clear they weren’t even close yet.

“Damn it,” James whispered eventually, draining the last of the coke. “Robbie, I think I need…”

Robbie was already on his feet, unsure if he was more alarmed by the fact James had used his nickname or the fact that the younger man had grown pale and was starting to sweat. “I’ll get your insulin, love. Sit tight.” 

 

** E – Epilepsy **

A heavy thud from the kitchen, splitting the peace and quiet of the afternoon. Robbie paused for only a second before leaping into action, hurrying through from the living room to see the horrific sight of James laid out on the floor, shaking violently, clearly in the throws of a seizure.

Grand mal, some distant and trained part of Robbie’s mind noted, though he was too busy pushing the kitchen table away from his partner’s twitching legs and turning James onto his side to really think about the details. 

“I’ve got you, James.” Robbie slipped one hand under the younger man’s head to try to cushion it from the floor, tugging at James’s neck tie with his other. With a growl, he finally managed to pull it free, undoing the top button of the shirt as well so James wouldn’t choke himself accidentally, hating the harsh gasps that escaped from James’s lips as he fought for breath. “There you go. That’s better.”

Finally, Robbie folded his legs beneath himself as best he could and simply sat, trying to keep James’s shaking body as steady as he could, preparing to wait out the fit. It could be seconds or it could be minutes. 

“I’m here, love. You’re okay.”

It never got any easier, no matter how many times it happened, and he hated that there was nothing more he could do but watch.

 

** F – Flu **

“Kill me now, Robert.” A loud sneeze, followed by the trumpeting sound of James blowing his nose. “I’m serious. Or cut my head off, at least, please.”

“I think that might have the same effect,” Robbie mused with a small smile as he offered his miserable partner a fresh box of tissues. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not kill you. You’ll be just fine.”

With a dramatic huff, James flung himself back into the pillows and tugged his blankets up higher. “No, I really think I’m dying.” He coughed hoarsely, and Robbie had to admit he actually did sound quite pitiful. 

“It’s just the flu, pet,” he soothed, gathering up the used tissues and straightening the bedding a little more around the younger man’s shivering form. “Just rest up, drink lots of fluids, and you’ll feel better in a couple of days, I promise.”

Another sneeze. “Robert?” 

“Yes, James?”

“I’m sorry I’m so pathetic.” Rather than dignify that with a response, Robbie leaned down and simply kissed James’s sweaty forehead, figuring he was already bound to get sick himself in a day or two. Then it would be James’s turn to take care of him. As he straightened, another sneeze shook his partner’s body, and James growled, “Seriously, please just kill me now.”

 

** G – Glandular Fever **

At least they had an answer. James had been suffering from intermittent fevers and crippling exhaustion for months, along with a severe and constant sore throat, and he’d been understandably cranky – not to mention miserable – when his symptoms didn’t seem to ease at all as time went by. 

He’d finally given in to Robbie’s repeated requests that he see a doctor, and after another month of being told it was nothing more than a bad cold or a minor viral infection they finally had an answer.

Not that having an answer gave them an easy cure, sadly. “Bed rest, Robert?” James croaked, shaking his head. “I’ll lose my mind before the first day is over.” 

“It’s only for a few days, then we’ll gradually get you moving round again. And you heard what the doctor said, pet; if you want to start feeling better you have to just stop completely for a little while to start getting your strength back. I’ve got some ideas, though.”

A coughed half-laugh. “You really do have a plan for everything.”

“Too right I do.” Robbie leaned over to press a lingering kiss to his partner’s clammy forehead. “I’ve taken some time off work, see, and I’m going to be right there with you the whole time.”

“Hmm, sounds like a plan I can get behind.” James dropped his head down to rest on Robbie’s shoulder. “You’ll take care of me? Until I feel better?”

“Always, love. Always.”

 

** H – Hypothermia **

Pressing his lips to James’s cold forehead, Robbie murmured, “It’s okay, love. You’re okay. I’ve got you, and they’ll find us soon.” Still no response from the limp body in his arms, although he thought he could feel the first shivers starting as James slowly began to warm up.

Shifting slightly on the concrete floor of the basement they’d been thrown into, Robbie pulled his partner more firmly onto his chest, one hand moving to gently guide James’s head closer into his neck, the other rubbing slowly but firmly across the long back. He’d removed his heavy quilted jacket and draped it over James like a blanket, and now he held James virtually on top of his own body, hoping desperately that his body heat might help, their chests pressed together and James’s long legs tucked between Robbie’s own.

In spite of all that, though, Robbie was starting to shiver a little himself from his partner’s icy body temperature. Again, he cursed the snow and the gang that had trapped them here, for unknown reasons – no phone signal, no way out, and he desperately needed to get James warm soon.

“Come on, James,” he whispered, sliding his fingers into place on the younger man’s chilled neck, feeling the slow yet steady thump of his pulse. “I know you’re cold, and I know you’re tired, but you need to wake up for me. Please.”

James was definitely starting to shiver now, and that at least was an improvement. Robbie tightened both arms briefly around his partner’s narrow waist, closing his eyes and trying to swallow down his worry. He hated feeling so helpless, but the entire Oxfordshire police force would be searching for them by now. They’d be found soon. 

 

** I – Irritable Bowel Syndrome **

“James?” Robbie whispered, pausing in the doorway to the darkened bedroom. “You awake, love?”

The long lump of blankets in the middle of the bed shifted slightly, and a tousled head appeared at the top. “I’m awake, mostly. What’s going on?”

“Just brought you a couple of things.” Crossing the room, Robbie perched carefully on the edge of the mattress, setting a steaming mug on the bedside table. “Peppermint tea, and a fresh hot water bottle.”

He lifted the edge of the blankets, waiting until James uncurled a little before reaching in to remove the cooling hot water bottle from against his partner’s belly and replacing it with a new one. A soft sigh slipped from James’s lips as Robbie settled the covers up around his shoulders once more.

“Thanks. You’re my hero, truly.” James sounded exhausted; he’d been up most of the night, as had Robbie, who’d been unable to sleep knowing the man he loved was in pain.

Running a hand once through James’s soft blond hair, Robbie reluctantly stood to leave, knowing his partner hated to be fussed over. “Drink your tea,” he said firmly, relieved when James huffed a faint laugh in reply – perhaps the worst was nearly over, for this round. 

 

** J – Jaundice **

It wasn’t obvious at first, and Robbie wondered if he was just imagining things. James was naturally pale, though his skin easily turned a beautiful shade of golden brown in the summer sun, and he blushed beautifully too when he was embarrassed. So it really wasn’t obvious, and Robbie pushed it out of his mind.

In the end, to his surprise, it was actually James who brought up the subject first, one morning when the two of them were in the bathroom together, towelling each other off after a wonderful shared shower.

“Robbie? Is it just me, or…” James broke off, ducking his head. “My skin, and my eyes, are they…?”

Robbie stepped closer, slipping one hand under his partner’s chin and tilting his head back up into the light. “A little bit yellow?” he suggested quietly, seeing again how the whites of James’s eyes weren’t quite right. Something twisted deep in his stomach at the sight.

James bit his lower lip, nodding. “Yes. I thought it was just me, perhaps, that I was seeing things, but… Do you think I should see a doctor, maybe?”

“I do, pet.” Robbie leaned closer, pecked a kiss to the very tip of the younger man’s nose in an attempt to reassure him. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

 

** K – Kidney disease/failure **

The renal ward was a calm place, Robbie had always felt. Not quiet perhaps, not with the hum of machines and chatter of both patients and staff a constant background presence, but it was always so different from his professional experiences of hospitals. There was no panic here, no voices raised in alarm. There was blood, of course, but it was cycling peacefully through the dialysis machines, rather than pouring from open wounds.

James squeezed his hand gently, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You okay there?”

“I should be asking you that, surely.” They’d been there for an hour now, with at least another hour and a half to go. Three times a week for several months now, and it had already become routine, though that never stopped Robbie worrying. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine. A little tired.” James shifted slightly in his cushioned recliner, wincing when he accidentally moved the arm hooked up to the machine by his side. “Not light-headed yet.”

“Good.” James occasionally suffered a drop in blood pressure during dialysis, scaring Robbie badly every time when the monitors all started beeping a little faster. “Why don’t you get some sleep if you can?”

“Yes, I might do that.”

There were tired circles beneath James’s eyes, dark circles which never seemed to fade any more, no matter how much rest the younger man got. The only thing that would give James his energy back and return him to full health would be a much-needed kidney transplant. 

Robbie leaned forwards, pressing a quick kiss to his lover’s lips. “You know I’d give you one of my kidneys if I could, right? Both of them, if it would help.” He’d been tested as soon as they’d found out James was in the early stages of renal failure, but he hadn’t been a match, though of course he was also officially too old to be a donor. None of their other friends had been a match either, sadly, leaving James towards the bottom of a fairly long waiting list for an anonymous donor. 

“You’ve told me a thousand times, love. And you know I’m so grateful.” James smiled at him before closing his eyes. “It’ll be my turn, one day.”

 

** L – Leukaemia **

It wasn’t the news they’d been hoping for. After months of chemotherapy, after watching helplessly as James grew painfully thin and lost all his hair, after holding him during the days he vomited constantly and comforting him when he wept angry tears, Robbie had been praying that this round of tests would show some improvement. Perhaps not remission, not quite yet, but at least some indication that the aggressive treatment was working. That it was all worth it.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor told them softly, and Robbie could feel James starting to tremble by his side. “I know this wasn’t what you wanted to hear. I recommend that we repeat the current course of therapy, and I think we also need to discuss the possibility of looking for a suitable bone marrow donor.” 

“A transplant?” Robbie asked numbly, as James’s bald head landed heavily on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his partner’s too-skinny body and pulled him close, fighting back the tears. “Can I be tested?”

The doctor offered him a small smile. “Of course. Though the odds of a non-family member being a perfect match are very small, I’m afraid. Do you have any relatives we could ask, James?”

“Yes,” James whispered, his voice strangely calm and steady. “I have a sister, though we’re not close. She’ll help, I think, if she can.”

And Robbie could only listen in shock and hold James tightly as the doctor started to explain the steps they would need to take next, as well as what would happen in the immediate, terrifying future.

 

** M – Mumps **

“You look like a lopsided hamster.” Robbie smiled down at James as he gently pressed a hot washcloth to the swollen jaw; the left side was definitely worse than the right. “How come you never had mumps as a lad?”

“No idea,” James mumbled stiffly, closing his eyes and sinking back into the pillows with a grateful sigh as the heat started to work. “Mmm. That’s good.”

With his free hand, Robbie stroked limp curls back from his partner’s sweaty forehead, feeling the low fever burning there. “Don’t worry,” he murmured soothingly. “You make a very cute hamster, love.”

James, clearly too sore to speak any further, simply raised his right fist from the bed and slowly extended his middle finger.

 

** N – Narcolepsy  **

Things had gone suspiciously quiet in the kitchen. Robbie somehow knew exactly what he would find when he opened the door, and sure enough, James was sitting slumped forwards over the table, a pen in one hand and what appeared to be a calculator in the other. He was dribbling all over the paperwork Robbie knew he’d brought home to finish up, and he was snoring softly, lost to the world.

Robbie sighed, shaking his head as he slipped off his jacket and stepped closer. “At least you weren’t trying to fry up breakfast, pet,” he whispered as he draped the jacket over his partner’s shoulders, feeling James stir lethargically at his touch. “We’re going to have to put a few rules in place, I think, though I know you’ll hate that. I don’t want you to hurt yourself while we get this under control.”

He slipped one hand gently beneath his sleeping man’s head, lifting just enough to slide the slightly soggy papers free, and James grumbled something inaudible before settling back into a deeper sleep.

Pressing a soft kiss to ruffled blond locks, Robbie murmured softly, “Sleep well, James, love.”

 

** O – OCD **

Robbie paced back and forth in the kitchen, wondering at what point he should try to step in. James wouldn’t welcome him interfering, he knew, but when this particular problem flared up there was only so much Robbie could take, knowing how James would struggle to make himself stop.

The taps in the bathroom had been running for more than twenty minutes now, and Robbie knew the water would be as hot as it could go, probably close to boiling point. James’s poor hands would be red and sore, possibly already bleeding in places as he scrubbed at his skin over and over again with a harsh brush. 

James had tried to describe it once, years back when Robbie had first stumbled across his young partner practically scouring the skin from his palms. It was only ever a problem after certain cases, he’d explained haltingly, only when he’d had to crawl too deeply beneath the skin of the most evil murderers. He had to scrub and scrub until he felt clean again, only sometimes it felt he could never get clean enough.

Robbie had tried to head James off before, when he’d suspected there might be a problem, and had tried to reassure James as much as he could. He’d tried physically forcing his partner to stop by dragging him away from the sink, though the result had been a startlingly violent fistfight which had left both of them battered and bruised. He’d even tried subterfuge once, turning off the boiler to cut off the hot water, but James had simply boiled a kettle instead and ended up with second degree burns.

James knew he had a problem and he had learned coping mechanisms which nearly always worked, eventually; he would stop himself, at some point, with no outside interference. But Robbie paced faster, gnawing on a thumbnail and breathing hard. Nearly half an hour now. He already had the first aid kit out and waiting.

Finally, Robbie simply couldn’t take it any longer. “James? You coming out any time soon, love?”

The answer was immediate, and exactly as expected. “Leave me alone, Robert, please.” Anger, certainly, but there were tears in James’s voice too, and Robbie had to clench his fists to stop himself opening the bathroom door and just pulling the younger man out. “Just give me five more minutes, okay? Put the kettle on, maybe? Tea would be good. Please.”

“Five minutes then, lad, and not a second longer.” An end point, at least, though Robbie wouldn’t breathe a sigh of relief until James was by his side with hands dried and bandaged, if necessary. “Five more minutes, and I’ll have your tea waiting. I’ll get the biscuits out, too.” 

 

** P – Prosopagnosia (face-blindness) **

Robbie paused in the doorway, waiting until James glanced up at him before he took a single step inside the room. And then he waited.

James’s bright eyes flickered quickly up and down his body, and Robbie could practically see his partner compiling an internal profile, checking it against his mental database. He would be taking note of Robbie’s height, his build, his clothes. His hair, almost certainly, and his eyes. His laughter lines, too, most likely.

He allowed a smile to appear on his lips as those questioning eyes returned to his face, dancing over him and around him without a hint of recognition. Every single time, James looked at him as if it was the very first time. Every single time, Robbie made himself wait until his partner put all the pieces together – most of the time it only took a second or two, but sometimes it took longer.

“Robbie?” Only a couple of seconds, this time, but James didn’t sound certain. Robbie took a couple of steps forwards, remembering how the lad had once told him that the way someone moved or smelled was almost more important than way they looked, and only then did James smile. “Robert.”

Finally, Robbie let himself close the remaining distance and leaned down to claim a kiss. “Right first time, love.” 

 

** Q – Quinsy **

There was nothing worse than waiting for news when your loved one was in surgery. Robbie had stayed in the waiting room for as long as he could stand, before slipping out to pace up and down the corridor instead, trying not to stare at the double doors leading through to the operating theatres.

Compared with some of the situations they’d been in during their years on the job, of course, this was a relatively minor procedure. This was no gunshot wound or knife injury, merely an infected abscess which needed draining, though the situation had become suddenly urgent when James had started to have difficulty breathing and his fever spiked dangerously high.

It would be over soon, Robbie reminded himself, and he’d hopefully be able to take his partner home again in a couple of days, when the IV antibiotics had worked their magic. Then, in a few weeks’ time, they’d have to talk seriously about finally having James’s tonsils taken out for good – this had all started as his fourth bout of tonsillitis in the last six months, and the doctors had raised the subject already on the previous two occasions.

Robbie desperately hoped the younger man would agree; he couldn’t watch James go through this again, though of course it wasn’t his decision to make. As he paced, he tried to distract himself by starting a mental shopping list, for all the little things he knew would help James feel better once he came home from the hospital. Tomato soup – the posh kind from the deli in the covered market, not the cheap tinned stuff – and raspberry ripple ice cream. Mint choc chip, too, for when the worst of the swelling had gone down. 

As Robbie paced to a stop, he turned quickly when he saw the doors to surgery open at long last, and a doctor in blue scrubs started to walk straight towards him. Robbie’s heart started to race painfully fast until he could finally see that the doctor was smiling. 

 

** R – Rheumatoid Arthritis  **

Robbie heard the flush of the toilet, closely followed by slow, shuffling footsteps heading back into their bedroom, rather than towards the kitchen to join him as he’d hoped. He gave James a minute or two before going to tap quietly on the closed door, not wanting to simply barge in.

“You want any breakfast, love?”

“No, thank you.” James sounded strained, and Robbie frowned, opening the door and stepping inside.

James was sitting on the edge of the bed, his pills and a glass of water in his visibly swollen hands. The much-hated walking stick was leaning up against the bedside table, clearly having been used for once rather than ignored, and as he glanced up at Robbie he shook his head with a pained huff.

Robbie’s heart hurt to see his younger partner suffering so much; he still couldn’t shake the feeling that it should be him, as the older man, though of course the illness took little notice of age. Shaking off the useless thoughts, and already suspecting the answer, he quietly asked, “Bad day?” James simply nodded once before swallowing his pills with a grimace and draining the water. “You fancy a massage?”

“Not right now, if that’s okay,” James replied, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s all a bit… too much.”

A really bad day, then. Robbie thought for a moment before quietly suggesting, “How about a hot bath?”

“Oh…” A soft sigh followed by a brief smile as James turned to Robbie. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

 

** S – Sepsis/Septic Shock **

James’s fever stubbornly refused to break, even now, and Robbie was trying hard not to start thinking the very worst. He’d done everything he could – keeping the deep wound on James’s thigh clean when they’d been locked in that damp and filthy basement had been almost impossible, though they’d tried their hardest. After the longest two days of his life, days when James had steadily sunk into the grip of a burning fever, Robbie had nearly cried when they’d finally been found.

They’d made it to the hospital just as James had started to have difficulty breathing, his heart fluttering irregularly beneath his breast and his skin practically burning to the touch. The doctors had immediately swept him away from Robbie, spiriting him away into the depths of the hospital, and it had been hours before Robbie had been able to see his partner again.

But the antibiotics still weren’t working, and James was far too pale, his skin soaked with sweat and his limp hair plastered to his forehead. Unconscious, of course, as he had been for most of the last twenty-four hours. He was on a ventilator, his bare chest heaving with every enforced breath, though the infected wound on his leg had looked far better the last time the nurses changed the dressing. 

The infection was raging through his bloodstream now, and it was a battle Robbie had to accept they might not win.

“Please, James, keep fighting,” he whispered, lifting his partner’s hand into his own and squeezing gently, careful not to disturb the IV line which fed him much-needed fluids and a cocktail of medication. “Don’t let this beat you.”

The hiss of the ventilator and the soft beep of the heart monitor were his only answer.

 

** T – Testicular Cancer/Tumour **

“Robbie, I need to tell you something.” James had been quiet all day, and Robbie had been waiting for this moment with a growing sense of dread. “I found a lump. I went to my GP to get it checked like a good boy, figured it would be nothing. But it’s something.”

Immediately, almost instinctively, Robbie knew what James meant, and where the lump must be. “It’s something bad?” he asked, hesitantly. 

A stiff nod from his partner. “Most likely. I have another appointment on Friday. They want to do an ultrasound and a CAT scan, and a chest x-ray, and a whole load more blood tests.” James’s next words were so quiet Robbie had to strain forwards to hear them. “And they want to talk about surgery.”

“Surgery, oh god.” Robbie found himself crossing his legs in sympathy, even as James stubbed out his cigarette harshly. “You mean, they’ll cut…?”

The younger man winced, closing his eyes for a second before forcing them back open. “Yeah,” he mumbled, running one hand back through his hair. “Then they can do a biopsy and figure out how bad it is. If I need more surgery, or chemotherapy. Probably just the chemo, but they’ll talk about that on Friday too.” James looked so lost, and there was a hint of entirely understandable fear in those unfathomable eyes. 

“There’s no chance it’s something else?” Robbie asked hopefully, trying to keep his own voice steady as he gave in to the need to touch James, to offer some sort of comfort even if he didn’t know the right words to say. He reached out a hand and rested it over James’s, feeling the slight tremor in those long fingers. “A chance it’s not what they think it is?”

“There’s a small chance, apparently.” At James’s answer, Robbie felt a glimmer of hope, though it was swiftly dashed as his partner continued, “But my GP was pretty upfront with me. It’s unlikely to be anything else. They’re 99% sure.”

Robbie squeezed James’s hand tightly, swallowing hard. As much as he wanted to offer the younger man some sort of reassurance, to promise him that everything would be okay, he knew James didn’t want to hear that. Knew that James, with that huge brain of his, understood exactly what he was most probably facing, and had probably researched all the possible outcomes and worst case scenarios. 

“I love you,” he told James instead, knowing he’d said the right thing when James’s fingers closed convulsively around his own. “Whatever happens next, I love you, and we’ll see it through together. I’ll be right there with you on Friday, and every day after.”

 

** U – Urinary Tract Infection **

Robbie resisted the urge to make a smart comment of some sort as James slipped quietly away in the direction of the bathroom for the third time that hour. ‘Once more unto the breach’ or something similar, though he was sure James wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. Robbie could understand that, at least; he’d been there himself, a few years back, and it really wasn’t a laughing matter. 

Instead, he opened the fridge and retrieved the nearly empty bottle of cranberry juice, filling a fresh glass and placing it on the table in clear sight. When James emerged a few minutes later, slightly hunched over and pressing one hand into his lower belly, Robbie waited until his partner had taken a few slow sips before asking quietly, “All right?”

“Yes.” James didn’t sound entirely convinced, though, and Robbie wasn’t surprised when the younger man added, “I might see my GP tomorrow, maybe, if this keeps up.” 

There was nothing Robbie could really say to that, so he simply poured the last of the juice into James’s glass and bobbed up on tiptoes to press a quick, reassuring kiss to his partner’s cheek.

 

** V – Varicella Zoster (chickenpox)  **

“Stop scratching.” Robbie batted James’s hands away from his spotty chest for what seemed to be the hundredth time in the last hour. “If you scratch them, then they might scar. And I’m sure you don’t want scars.”

“But it itches so badly.” James’s voice was little more than a whine, and he squirmed uncomfortably, probably trying to scratch his back against the mattress. “This is utterly unbearable.”

Robbie was ready when his partner tried to scratch again, going for his face this time, and he caught those clever hands in his own, squeezing them tightly. “Stop. Scratching. If you force me to, then I will happily tape oven gloves around your hands.”

James went still in his grasp. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed.

“Try me.” Robbie fixed James with his most stern glare before continuing, “On the other hand, if you promise to behave, then I will treat you to a nice lukewarm bath before covering you from head to toe in calamine lotion.” 

“I promise to behave if you’ll join me in the bath?” James sounded so desperate that Robbie nodded immediately.

“You’ve got a deal, pet.” 

 

** W – Wisdom teeth **

Robbie watched with pursed lips as James winced his way through a few mouthfuls of dinner, chewing very gingerly and clearly in pain. After a few minutes, James abruptly seemed to realise he was being watched, glancing over at Robbie before very deliberately pushing his plate away.

“Not really hungry,” he declared with a half-hearted smile, and Robbie might have believed his partner if James hadn’t immediately raised a hand to rub gently at his jaw.

Robbie took a deep breath. “I know I’m the last person to tell you off for not going to the dentist, pet,” he started, continuing quickly when James opened his mouth to protest. “But this is getting ridiculous. Even I can see that you need to get them taken out.”

“I really don’t need to do that, Robert. They’ll sort themselves out sooner or later. Most people have a little pain when their wisdom teeth come through.” 

“It’s been weeks now,” Robbie pointed out quietly. “Painkillers aren’t helping, are they? And you can barely eat.” 

“I told you: I’m not really hungry.” A blatant lie: those bright eyes looked longingly down at the barely-touched pasta for just a second, before James sighed.

Knowing he really didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to seeking out dental treatment, Robbie understood that this had to be James’s decision. But still… “Let me make you an appointment. And how about I come with you, hold your hand the whole time?” 

That image made James smile, though several minutes ticked by before he finally nodded. “You win,” he whispered. “I’ve had enough of this. And I really am hungry.” 

 

** X – X-ray **

“It’s only bruised, Robbie. I just slipped, knocked my arm on the edge of the table.”

Robbie lifted James’s swollen wrist as gently as he could, not missing the pained hiss that escaped his partner’s lips at the action. “I’m not so sure, pet,” he murmured, running careful fingers along the puffy flesh. “I think it might be broken. Does that hurt?”

“Of course it bloody hurts, when you’re poking at it like that!” James made a half-hearted attempt to pull his hand free, stopping with a gasp when Robbie refused to let go. “It can’t be broken. Really, I just knocked it a little bit. There’s no way…” He broke off with a wince, frowning. “Just help me strap it up and it’ll be fine. I didn’t hit it that hard.”

Watching James closely, Robbie realised with a start that his partner was telling him the truth, and faint alarm bells began to ring. To his inexpert eyes the arm certainly appeared to be broken, and if James really hadn’t hit it hard enough to cause a fracture, then it could possibly mean one of a dozen more serious problems. Anything from osteoporosis to multiple myeloma, to any number of different types of bone cancer. 

He knew he was thinking the very worst, of course, when it was most likely that James had just bruised his wrist badly, but then he’d always felt that was his job. Thinking ahead, and seeing the bigger picture. Particularly when it came to James, who tended to get lost in the details. 

Shaking off the black thoughts, Robbie nodded once, decision made. “No, you need to get this x-rayed. Right now, just in case. Just for me, okay?”

A pause, then a whispered, “Okay then. Just for you.”

 

** Y – Yellow fever **

“Could be worse,” Robbie soothed, pressing a gentle kiss to his partner’s sweaty brow. “At least it’s not malaria. And you don’t need to be in the hospital, thank goodness; I can look after you right here.”

James groaned, shifting uncomfortably on the pillows. “Doesn’t stop me feeling like death warmed up.”

“I know, pet.” Robbie lifted the bottle of water to James’s lips, slipping a hand gently under his head to help him drink. “You need anything else right now? Or do you just want to sleep?”

“Can’t sleep. I ache everywhere.” James sighed pitifully, his eyes glassy with fever and his arms spotted with healing mosquito bites. Two weeks away volunteering, and he’d been pretty much eaten alive, the poor man. “My back hurts.”

Acting on instinct, Robbie slipped beneath the cool cotton sheets to stretch out on the bed next to his ailing partner, half-sitting against the headboard. Almost immediately, James rolled over with a pained huff until he was curled up against Robbie’s side, his hot head resting heavily on Robbie’s stomach and one arm wrapping loosely around his waist. 

Starting up a gentle massage on James’s lower back, Robbie silently counted the minutes until the ill man fell into a restless sleep. According to the doctors, this shouldn’t be worse than a bad flu, but there were complications Robbie would need to be on the watch for. Until James started to feel better, Robbie had decided he wouldn’t leave his side. 

 

** Z – Zits **

It had come as something of a surprise, and James was obviously upset but trying hard to hide it. A combination of stress, lack of sleep, and a diet consisting of little but fast food and fry-ups for weeks – perhaps it was little wonder James was suffering a break out. 

Robbie stood in the bathroom door, watching as his partner examined every inch of his face in painstaking detail. 

“I look like a spotty teenager,” James grumbled into the mirror, clearly fully aware he was being watched. He poked at a particularly nasty boil by the side of his nose, and winced a little. “I hate this.”

“I know you do.” Robbie stepped into the room, wrapping his arms around James’s slender waist and resting his chin on a strong shoulder, meeting frustrated blue eyes in the reflection. “We’ll stop by Boots later, and you can stock up on all the lotions and potions you need.” He ducked his head briefly to suck a tender bite into James’s neck. “Zits or no zits, you’re still the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and the only man I will ever love.”

James blushed a bright, fiery red, leaning back into Robbie’s embrace. “How is it that you always know the perfect thing to say to me?”

“Years of practise,” Robbie whispered with a smile. “I promise that I will always do everything in my power to make you feel better, even if all I can do is tell you I love you.”

“Thank you, Robert. You have no idea what that means to me.” James twisted suddenly in his arms and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on Robbie’s lips, before murmuring, “I love you too.”

Robbie leaned in to press their lips together again, and again, determined to drive any thought of spots far from James’s mind. Distraction was often the best way by far to make James feel better, and of course it was no hardship for him either, Robbie mused, as he dragged his partner out of the bathroom and in the direction of the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no medical training beyond basic first aid so I'm sure that there will certainly be inaccuracies here, but I would ask any readers to please remember that this has been a writing exercise for me and not a research exercise. I'm sure I'm not the only one who loves a bit of hurt/comfort, so hopefully there might be something here that someone enjoys in spite of any errors.
> 
> Re-posting from my lj page.


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